Be It Ever So Messy, There's No Place Like Home: The "Adventures" of a 50-Something Southern California Mom - who used to be interesting... and her teenage daughter.

March 2005

March 30, 2005

I'll start with the most important piece of news for the day: Neil came home yesterday afternoon, a good 24 hours earlier than we'd expected.

Gareth drove his mum and dad home from the hospital before joining us at his brother's house for dinner. (Dave and Tracey had already planned an Indian dinner for us last night, and we all concluded that Marion and Neil would prefer to have a quiet homecoming evening alone.)

"How is he doing?" asked Dave.

Gareth laughed. "The minute he got in the house, he put on a fire and moved himself right next to it." Gareth mimed his dad's typical pose of warming his butt in front of the fireplace.

Now that Neil is home -- with nary a lingering sign of his most recent medical emergency -- Dave felt he could safely confess how serious the doctors considered this latest stroke -- and at the time we were informed about it, they had held little hope for his recovery.

We all shook our heads in amazement at the sheer force of Neil's will to survive. "He's like the Energizer bunny," my husband often says, "he just keeps going and going and going."

March 29, 2005

On Saturday, I was quite proud of myself for resisting the urge to cover every weather possibility and pack lightly.

Stupid me.

It may be late March, but the temperatures here aren't much higher than they were when we last visited in January 2004.

So when we got to the Traveller's Rest in freezing, pouring rain, I headed straight for a table next to what I assumed would be a roaring fire...

...which instead held an arrangement of dried flowers.

When Gareth asked the bartender why none of the fireplaces were in use, he answered "Because it's spring. We stop using them then."

But it's frickin' COLD!

Later that afternoon, after Gareth and Marion got back from visiting Neil in the hospital, we took Megan shopping for a couple of sweaters to wear over all the T-shirts I packed. (She is such a Californian that she usually refuses to wear them, and silly me thought that long-sleeved T's and a jacket would be adequate.) Of course, the attitude in most stores this time of year is the same as the bartender at the Traveler's Rest: It's spring. (I came across the same thing at home when I thought I might pick up a few sweaters that fit -- too late to find them in the stores. But of course, in California, we don't need them as much.)

On our Christmas 2003 trip, I abandoned the diet on the plane. This time around, the late departure forced us to eat a proper dinner in the airport, so when they served one on the plane, I was sufficiently satisfied to say "no thank you" and try to sleep.

My resolve stayed firm upon landing, when roast beef, potatoes and Yorkshire pudding beckoned to me at the Beefeater pub. (OK, it helped that they were out of the roast beef and I was forced to order the salmon.) Then, on Monday night, I was faced with Yorkshire pudding again at dinner at Tracey's (my sister-in-law, who has just completed chef's training and is working on a specialty in pastries). It just about killed me to turn it down, but the meal included so much roast beef and turkey and broccoli that I didn't feel too deprived.

Then came yesterday, and we decided to take Marion (my mom-in-law) to lunch at our favorite pub just outside Cardiff, the Traveler's Rest. This is a picturesque old Inn with a thatched roof and low ceilings, located on a hillside between Cardiff and Caerphilly. (Yes, Gareth took some pictures, but he's being a doody and refusing to transfer them to my computer just yet, so you will just have to wait.) And I broke. There simply wasn't anything on that menu that didn't include potatoes or other starches, and the beef and ale puff pastry pie was calling my name.

Was it worth it? Yes indeed.

So I'm telling myself that at least I did not opt for any dessert (beautiful "puddings" that are out of this world)... and instead of dinner, I ate some string cheese. And I will try not to get derailed again...

...until Gareth decides it's time to visit the Cornish pastie shop in the City Centre. (See the picture in the Gallery here.)

What is today? Tuesday? I can't believe it's been three days since my last post.

Gareth dropped me off at our home away from home in Cardiff, the Starbucks on Wellfield Road. I could have walked, but I had a pillowcase stuffed with laundry I wanted to drop off at the Fluff 'n' Fold -- plus it's raining (big surprise in Britain, huh?) and the thought of walking with all of that and my laptop was more than my wimpy little California self could handle.

So I'm going to do my best to cover our trip so far -- as briefly and concisely as possible.